


Old Friend

by esterion, Goldie_Locks



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Romance, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 11:26:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6656011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esterion/pseuds/esterion, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldie_Locks/pseuds/Goldie_Locks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Postcanon, about three years after the end of the show.<br/>Romantic moments, ass jokes, fits of reflection, heroic battles, 'Tearful Queens' fountain, trips to Europe and heartwaking rimming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Tearful Queens

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Anyone would have been angry, Em."

"Cunt! Just fancy! I come home and see a cunt in our bed!"

Emmett spat out the word "cunt" so fiercely, that it almost could be seen - pancaked on the bar counter. Actually, Ted would not have been surprised by an eruption of something else. Sure, Brian had dismissed Ted's plea to be excused from the meeting with his usual derisive skepticism. Now, after midnight, it would be bold to claim that Emmett was able to keep everything inside him he had been accumulated there that evening.

"I hope you mean a Fleshlight?"

"I mean that right there, right in our bed, he was fucking…" Emmett choked on his tears and gave a dangerous reel on his chair.

"Because if you do not mean rubber vagina, as you taught me yourself, they are called women."

Holding his pal by the elbow, Ted sank into excruciating consideration as to whether this joke was funny and/or appropriate at all. No for both questions. Emmett's chin kept on screwing up with ghastly inexorability. Throw your sarcasm away, flush it down the nearest toilet. With yourself, if you fail. Certainly, the situation, albeit some nuances, is quite predictable. One of those which urge you to say: "Told you so!"

In recent years Ted had acquired enough wisdom for not saying this, neither before, nor after, but how difficult it is to refrain from a tiny drop of acidity. Damn, right you are: put your head into the toilet and slam it with the lid.

"Teddy! I am so… disappointed!"

"Of course, you are disappointed."

"And so angry!"

"Anyone would have been angry, Em."

No words to assuage all the sorrows at once were found into the profundity of Ted's wits, so he hugged Emmett and patted him on the back. Poor thing. Poor good beloved friend. Certainly, Emmett would start to cry. Then, undoubtedly, Ted himself would start to cry, and they would weep in each others' arms, bearing a resemblance to a picturesque postmodernist sculpture on a fountain. "The Tearful Queens".

 This cozy sight was so habitual for the guests of Woody's. Emmett would bring in a modicum of buffoonery: via barfing on his friend's favorite (and not bad at all!) jacket. Then Brian would come and say something that will make Ted barf as well. But any postmodernism must have some limits.

"Will you return to Debbie's place?"

"Done. Told her that…"

You'd better not let such pauses happen. You have to say something immediately.

"Do you need a hand with moving your stuff?" Ted made an effort to make his voice as warm as possible, but also firm, and started to ponder over a joke about an apparel of a fairytale princess. The joke refused to be conceived, and Ted began to mumble and stutter. "Furs, d-d-dildos…"

"Oh how the fuck I fucking hate all this fucking bullshit."

"Furs or dildos?"

Praise to Heavens, his kind, kind friend ignored the remark.

"Well, I would have understood, if… But…" Emmett sniffled, downed the remnants of his tenth jubilee cocktail and dropped the glass with ice to Ted's lap. "Do you know, why it all happened?" Emmett's slightly strained falsetto turned into muffled gruffish bass — and it was a very bad sign.

"Because Drewsie is a fucking asshole?"

"He's got such an ass!" That was it, the heavenly abyss burst wide open, and Ted's favorite jacket was irrigated by a somber manly tear mixed with some eyeliner. Emmett gained his breath, gave a grunt into a tissue and continued dramatically, "Hair."

"Ass hair?"

"My hair."

"You have no ass hair." Heavy silence was established. Ted thought, "Lord, why does nothing really amusing come to my head when I need it so much?"

Emmett ceased weeping and started shifting in his seat in gloomy drunk disorientation.

"At this rate, I will have no hair anywhere soon enough."

There was some truth in his words: Emmett started to lose hair. In one of his TV segments he had praised embracing one's baldness: sexy, non-trivial and brutal! The show was a great success, and the streets began to shine with masculine calvities of Queer Guy's fans. But it wasn't that brutality that was in the list of Emmett's priorities regarding himself. It looked disgusting with a pink shirt with a sentimental floral pattern. Either flowers, or brutality, one or the other. But until now Ted had never noticed that the dilemma had bothered Emmett at all, so he blurted automatically:

"On the bright side, you will be able to get a cheap deal on electrolysis!" and understood immediately that the joke was not worth a damn. Under a light bronzer, Ted blushed and even felt like breaking into perspiration.

Belated regrets! Emmett gave a muffled grunt and plunged into the dark. Ted produced the second tissue from his pocket and gave it to Emmett, ruminating whether the awkward situation could be alleviated by moderate reciprocity in weeping. And the weep, alien to any intellectual schemes, came up his throat against his will.

Naturally, just then Brian entered the bar and leader-of-the-pride-ly headed for some scheduled prey. Jumping into the miserable chance to leave without being seen, Ted grabbed Emmett in his arms and carried  him outside. In the car Emmett fell into a deep sleep of a drama-worn out person, so Ted (21 years in the gym! His physical fitness could have been entitled to buying its own alcohol already!) carried his friend to the upstairs bedroom of Debbie's house and put him on the bed.

 After a couple of minutes of sorrowful cursing, Emmett passed out again and started to snore. After some deliberation on how appropriate it would be to remove his friend's pants, Ted's pragmatism overcame his politeness, so the garments were removed, and his pal was covered with his blanket. Certainly, Ted's eye was arrested by the uncovered sights for a couple of seconds, but, after all, shall not we protect our psyche from hardships and our spirit from temptations? In the gross, it is high time to adjust the pillow and betake yourself to home.

At parting, Emmett murmured something like "love you". Ted kissed him on the forehead and wondered whether that remark was addressed to Drewsie.

***

It was an emotionally saturated situation. What an abomination! Especially when emotions are so mingled. To stop shaking this cocktail in his head, Ted decided to have a ride around the city. Was it reasonable to punch Drew in the face? He'd pop up to Drew, make some punches real quick and then lie down and brace himself for death. Was that not a truly sublime heroic deed? This man, strong in spirit and body, but somehow weak in understanding, sacrificed himself to save his best friend's honor. Ted imagined his perfect baritone carrying a primordial aria, recalled one that suited the occasion (it was easy, because Theodora was the heroine's name) and sang it. It made him feel a little better. Ted never could stand guilt. It used to turn him into a hideous stinking monster, something like a shit demon, swamping everything with feces.

But compassion was far easier to tolerate, because it always allowed him to conceive a rescue plan for miserable helpless folks and then enjoy the glow of his angelic wings, halo and, in most cases, calculator. Ted pictured himself as someone magnanimous and merciful, it embarrassed him, and he headed home, feeling very angry.

It's a good thing that there's been no one in his condo for a long time. Because guilt and shit demonism would always lead Ted into a vicious cycle. Supposing Blake were there, Ted would grumble at him, Blake would get upset, Ted would get angry, and so on indefinitely.

Ted had had more than enough of that in the last two months with Blake. One more feeling added itself to the emotional shake: pain. Ted recalled meeting Emmett at lunch about a year ago and telling him with a sad, but enlightened smile that he and Blake had realized they were growing out of their relationship. At first, their union had been founded on Ted's compassion for Blake, then on Blake's compassion for Ted, and afterwards - on their gratitude to each other. And this gratitude would stay with them forever, but it was not enough for a partnership, blah-blah-blah. Then Emmett patted Ted on his shoulder and said: "Good thing it was so painless." But there was an obvious excess of unease in his best friend's voice. In such amounts it went with this "good thing" just about as badly as brutality with a floral shirt.

About a week into solitude, Ted, who had got unaccustomed to being alone, sank into a stinky, color leaching, greyed out hell. Blake phoned him several times, asking in his tender, kind voice, whether he could give any support. Once he came to stand sadly on Ted's doorstep, sighing, as a little sad ghost. Then he disappeared. Ted found him and for an umpteenth time heard something like, "You are so gorgeous, I love you so much, we'd better not see each other." Obviously, Emmett had something to do with that, but Ted chose not to think about it - to avoid a new round of possession by the shit demon.

For some time, Ted was considering mending the situation by universally mending substances.  On the one hand, that would bring on much exquisite and macabre drama. And, on the other hand, those thoughts made Ted recall Emmett handing him a paper knife and yelling: "Kill yourself!" What is the use of exquisite and gloomy drama, if it makes you look like a complete idiot? And what is the use of suicide either by paper knife or by drugs, if you are such a bloody pragmatist, come what may in your lousy life?

As usual, the addiction was substituted by Emmett. Sweet caring Emmett who never (the shit demon started to effervesce) allowed himself to step into some new relationship ("Drewsie!" the shit demon murmured) and leave his best friend in the lurch. So, that time Emmett also accompanied Ted to cafes and shops almost every day, chose that not bad jacket for him. They even went to opera a couple of times. But that was a mistake. An attempt to discuss what they heard made Ted burst into hideous grumbling. A very unpleasant question made regular appearances on the margins of his consciousness: whether all that was having adverse impact on his friend's sex life. But Ted had already grown enough life experience to understand: he'd better not hear the answer and give rise to such thoughts.

Guilt started seething and overflowing. Certainly, Drewsie did not confine himself to the company of guys. He obviously did not waste his time, when Emmett yet again accompanied Ted to Babylon, Woody's, opera, whatever. Ted felt a lump in his throat. The cauldron of guilt was boiling on the flames, fueled by two comrade feelings. No matter how hard he tried to push them to the bottom of his conscience, they were bursting to get out, singing some nasty songs and trying to copulate sophisticatedly on the way. Inappropriate, infamous, too hideous to be paid attention to: joy and hope. Ted wanted to run somewhere immediately, to do something — either to thump people, or to weep on their bosoms.

With the hard drive of his head overheated completely, Ted despised the idea of going to his condo, turned around and drove to work; he would bury himself in  paperwork.


	2. The Haunted House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next afternoon incredible glow illuminated Liberty diner.

Vain self-dissatisfaction never was inherent in Emmett. There is a division of labor: Ted gets vain self-dissatisfaction, and Emmett gets the skill to turn ugly into fabulous. Emmett dances and applies sparkling eyeliner; Ted wanders in the labyrinths of self-reflection.

The world has long been moving towards craziness, and by the looks of it, the destination has been reached.

Ted kinda got what he wanted: Emmett, wearing one of his...God forgive me... party attires, was standing in front of a mirror and trying to do his hair. But anger and bitterness were making his cute snubby face more and more distorted every minute. Finally, Emmett cursed and threw a can of hairwax to the corner of the room.

"Em, stop it! You have such a cute… You look gorgeous!" Ted said , trying to make his voice sound as naturally as possible.

"It feels like, I will have to change my image pivotally," Emmett replied. "Shall I buy camo pants?”

"Pink ones?"

Emmett pulled a face, stepped away from the mirror, walloped on the sofa in his full height and croaked weakly:

"Teddy, go without me. I am feeling a bit under the weather."

"Em. Please," Ted sat down next to Emmett and took his hand. Emmett withdrew it and turned his back on Ted.

"Now you are thinking that you are the issue. But it is Drew Boyd. You are railing at yourself, looking for the cause. But it is Drew Boyd. For how many days have you been stuck indoors because of him? High time for you to get out, have fun, have a good time.”

Ted wanted to add "and get back to work", but decided to keep the remark to himself As for himself, he had been hanging around the office day and night, all but playing a pipe organ at the basement. An interesting idea, as a matter of fact! He had to persuade Brian to acquire a pipe organ.

Emmett turned back and hugged Ted from his back.

"It's you for whom it's high time to stop being stuck indoors with me, go out, have fun and a good time. I am really not in a good mood for it. I thought I was, but I realize now, for now I’m still not."

 

Ted gently patted his friend's hand. What was he to do now? If he persuaded Emmett and dragged him to Babylon, Emmett may get merry, start dancing wildly, get the glut of attention he is entitled to. But also he may gloomily get engrossed into the observation of all those... shit, let us be honest, young guys — wrinkle-free, with their posh chevelures and muscles… That's it, enough of these thoughts, or you will either scamper to Babylon, jumping out of your pants, or accidentally slash your veins. Generally, Emmett might get even more upset. To drag him somewhere when he is not in the right mood is a failure plan, whatsoever. On the other hand, Emmett needs some impact, some right words.

"Let’s fuck," Ted thought sarcastically in his pursuit of the right words, and this phrase multiplied as a computer virus and filled his head to the brim. It dreadfully hampered his efforts to build the next remark.

As Ted was thinking intensely, a nervous monologue was pouring out of his mouth. Like, do you remember, old friend, you told me you were blinded by my glowing beauty? So am I… Then it occurred to Ted that he was about to start saying something impolite.

Firstly, according to the tacit bargain that had come into force again after Blake's departure, Ted was deemed the interested party with no right to say anything perceivable as utterance of romantic intentions. Secondly, the epithet "glowing" certainly has to be omitted when you are referring to someone's balding head.

Shit, why are both Ted and Emmett so prone to fixed ideas? It would not hurt to have a change of mind here as well. Ted gets fixed ideas, Emmett gets, say, an urge to do ikebana. Fear made Ted jabber even faster: how gorgeous Emmett is, how all, all guys without any exceptions want him, and how he (my God!) can get (Lord, stop it!) Drew Boyd back (why am I saying this?) anytime.

Emmett gave a grunt, but it was unclear what he wanted to express. "The rest is silence." High time to ditch the idea of going to the club and put another film into the DVD player.

 

***

Next afternoon an incredible glow illuminated Liberty diner. The light was too bright to read the menu. It was hurting the eyes of the visitors. The meridian sun was flooding the eatery in thousands of waves reflected, around and above, from Ted's clean-shaven head. Certainly, the aforesaid was just artistic exaggeration. The head was blue and moderately lumpy. A sight rather more ironic, than captivating.

"Are you completely out of your gourd?" Debbie asked.

"Bring me, please, a vegetable salad and a glass of water," Ted said in a resolute voice, after a little shiver. Inside him, disgust was fighting comprehension of his selfless loyalty to friendship: Emmett buzzed his head a couple of days ago. And he was the only person able to decide the outcome of the fight. Drumroll please…

"Teddy, you are skull fucked!" Emmett said from the doors of the diner, having regained self-control not without difficulty. The disgust giggled and rubbed its hands.

"Some years ago I heard from Queer Guy's segment that in our community it is fashionable to demonstrate the exquisite contour of your skull, and those words sank into my heart," replied Ted. "You set up trends, and we, pathetic and poor in aesthetic sense, can only submit to them."

"Certainly, this is very sweet…" Emmett started to say, but Ted interrupted him.

"I promise you, everyone will appreciate my chic and incredible brutal sexuality. Now, see for yourself!" Ted stood up and made a laid-back approach to a table, where a young gentleman was sitting. All gentlemanly perfections of his torso were emphasized by a tight T-shirt, and any doubt in all other perfections was assuaged by jeans of unequivocal cut. Ted bended over the ear of that gay deity and whispered something. The deity smiled, showing forty impeccable teeth, and wrote a phone number on a napkin. Ted took his trophy and, with an eyebrow swashbuckingly lifted, returned to his friend.

"What did you tell him?" Emmett asked.

"Word of honor; the magic does not reside in words!" Ted replied and put the "Cunning Seducer #3" expression on his face.

“He promised the guy a date with an underwear model!!” Debbie giggled gleefully. Then she took a closer look at Emmett and opened her mouth for a moment.

Ted's eye gave a twitch, but he did not lower his brow.

"Oh, sorry, sweetie," Debbie said . "Actually, I heard nothing, of course. That's where I was standing, and you… Oh, one vegetable salad, coming right up!"

Emmett stroke Ted's head.

"Yes, it really is terribly pleasant to touch."

"Hear, hear, told you!" and Ted touched Emmett's shaven nape.

Brian entered the diner and saw the two scratching each other's bald heads. His eyes became round, and he lifted his eyebrows so high that they went to the top of his head. Then he turned around and left.

The young gentleman clad in the unequivocal jeans threw several bucks on his table and ran after Brian.

***

For a long time, there had been no one in the flat but the ghosts of the past. Not even a cat. The one that Ted had given away before the Liberty ride, he had not brought back: it had cottoned to the new owners. Namely, even the cat preferred to leave him. He could have despised her wishes, but then she would have crept under the couch and hissed at his attempts to get her out of there.

Ted turned on some music, sat on the couch and closed his eyes. Two years ago, Blake would have entered the room, sat next to Ted and tenderly put his head on Ted's shoulder. Ted imagined Blake, his gentle touch, his voice, scent of his hair. He waited until this became intolerable. Producing a tissue to blow his nose, he observed with sardonic smile how bloodily similar all that was to masturbation. And, by the way, he had hard-on. It was simply ridiculous. Blake's ghost smiled bitterly, got off the couch and, after one last look over his shoulder, shut the door after him.

Ted almost decided to go to work. By and large, he just could have moved his bed there: his office was a far jollier and more interesting destination, and a better place to sleep at night. And if only there was a pipe organ at the basement!

Ruminating on this, Ted took a shower, put on fresh clothes, picked up papers he needed — and checked on his mobile. There was a text message from Emmett; the friend was calling Ted to Babylon.

Good Lord, what a mercy! Now it is for sure: he had recovered. Right now he was dancing, like a fiery angel clad in pink and orange, turning his head beautifully, and smiling, and his ass… Surprisingly, Emmett did not like his perfect, gorgeous, admirable ass. He disliked it so badly that he had wanted to have a plastic surgery…. Well, perhaps it was better not to think about his ass.

Maybe he was, conversely, standing at the counter, all sad and confused, and was sassing off crowds of guys who are assailing him — all grieved, sorrowful, with tears in his eyes. Poor guy is suffering. He is disappointed and devastated.

And still Ted was thinking about his ass.

It would have been excellent to turn some thoughts off. Thoughts about Emmett's ass — turn off. Thoughts about Blake — turn off.

They say, that if you do not think about something, neuronal chains break, and your brain never returns to them. As a matter of fact, Ted did not want not to think about Blake and did not want not to think about Emmett's ass. The truth was, he painfully yearned not to recall other things, but he could not help it. Ted's thought turned into a small tornado rotating around the point because of which he was the one not supposed to think about Emmett's ass, and it became intolerable again. Horrible character, brimmed with endless suffering.

Enough of that. All the more so, here is Babylon: Gate of the God.

The worst thing for Ted to see was Drew Boyd. Embracing Emmett's waist by his massive hideous sexy claws. And Emmett is waltzing, with his arms up high, Emmett is laughing joyfully, and his eyeliner is blue. Then Boyd kisses him with his thin, hideous sexy mouth. Gets under his shirt. Unzips his orange pants and gets under them as well. First he grabs the ass we decided not to think about, then so roughly tears clothes from Emmett, and… No, nothing like that was seen by Ted in Babylon. He saw a very angry Emmett in camo pants. The friend was as drunk as a sow (again) and holding on the wall in order not to hold on the floor.

As a matter of fact, a look at that would force you to want Drew Boyd to appear here for real.

***

No doubt, after Ted's escapade Emmett had had to go through, infrequent occasions of Cosmo superfluity were just a child's play.. Still, it was undesirable to spend every night carrying the insensible friend up and down the stairs. Moreover, Ted absolutely did not want to know Debbie's opinion on this.

Trying to make as little noise as he could, Ted dragged Emmett to the latter's bedroom. Asked, whether any coffee was wanted — rather, out of courtesy. Em even gave some answer, but it was unclear, whether it was affirmative. With prowess of a case-hardened man, Ted removed his pal's shoes and those hideous pants (would it not be appropriate to burn them as an abominable symbol of entropy?). He pulled Emmett's blanket from under him and covered him. And, reflecting, whether to go home or to work, Ted started for the door.

"Teddy," there was a croak from the bed, "Don't go".

This is how horribly melodramatic stories get started. A creepy fleshcrawler kisses the Sleeping Beauty, using her helplessness. The Beauty flies into the passion and leaves bloody scratches on the fleshcrawler's back (or rips hair from his ass, which is more realistic, but not melodramatic enough — but still, a lousy joke about ass hair, at last). The fleshcrawler turns into a charming, albeit a little unkempt, prince and is determined to stay with the Beauty, until this idiotic world crumbles. And they lived happily ever after. Till morning. In the morning the Sleeping Beauty wakes up and sees a cunning and hideous Beast beside her, and then…

"Yes, Em. I will not go."

"Hug me."

Ted lay down atop the blanket, hugged Emmett, cuddled him and began to wait for him to fall asleep. To slope off to work? After all, nothing really wrong is going on here, so he can stay till morning. Cuddle till morning. Ted himself would not sleep — in order to enjoy that cuddling. Can he not kiss Emmett's nape? Well, just peck it. The unspoken arrangement that had been interrupted for two years because of Blake: yes, Ted loves Emmett. Not just loves, but, you know truly loves. Emmett knows, Ted knows, but everybody keeps silent. Because only Em, as the injured party, can say or do something. If Ted says something, a really unpleasant conversation will come up. So before kissing your friend's nape while you are lying with him in bed, you'd better comprehend the goings-on and do everything so as it would be just a friendly unobtrusive peck. Just in case, you'd better not do it at all.

"By the way, you are hard," Emmett told him, and turned around.

Fuck. Ted turned on his back and started to offer excuses, fumbling for right words with torturous, frantic speed. Like, the warmth, and the physical contact. It is not because of Emmett, but because of the bed and the reflexes, and, actually, he thought about one guy he had met in Babylon… As Ted was jabbering, Emmett silently put his head on Ted's shoulder and his hand on Ted's dick.

"Em, stop it, please."

Emmett would not stop. Worse yet, he kissed Ted on his ear. It absolutely was not like a friendly peck.

"Em, please, stop it, or I will go."

Ted caught Emmett's hand. An emotionally saturated situation again, and far worse that the previous one. What an abomination!

"And it seems to me, Ted, that you want it…"

"Yes, Em, of course I want it! And, I believe, you guess that I want it more than anything else in my life. This is why I ask you to stop it please!" Somewhere on the word "more" Ted's voice started to quiver, and (God! Give it a rest!) tears came to his eyes. Emmett withdrew his hand and reluctantly moved over. Ted wiped his face on his sleeve and sat up on the bed.

"Sorry, Teddy."

"I'd better go."

"You told me you'd stay if I stopped."

"I am not sure it is a good idea."

"Why?"

"I believe, tomorrow you will sober up, and the bluebirds that dress you in the mornings will sing you a song about it."

"Teddy, let’s do it!"

"No, Em. You are upset. You are drunk. And you absolutely do not need it."

Was the melodrama inevitable? Where he could have said "No, Rosencrantz"? Guilt shit demon stirred but hushed quickly: "Hug me" sounds completely innocent. He lay down and hugged Emmett. And as to hard-on, what do you have your dick for, if not for being hard? Lord, does he have to think about his hard-on now? As if his mother caught him masturbating. Although, mother would not have stuck her tongue into his ear. This thought made Ted screw up his face, but his dick, actually, became soft.

Emmett started to snore. A great moment to run away. Because many strange conversations are waiting in the morning. Even if not conversations, but, say, thoughts, it was still horrible. Ted imagined exchanging strange glances with Emmett. Emmett is squinting suspiciously and sullenly. Ted lifts an eyebrow, then another one. Emmett's chin is screwing up. Ted's lips become tight and thin as a thread. All told, the desire to spend the whole night cuddling disappeared. And Emmett is snoring as a wild boar — where on earth had he learned to do that! Must have taken masterclasses from Drew Boyd. Artistic snore, from the diaphragm itself, through all resonators — a majestic roar, a work of art. It would be great if it meant that his best friend will not even recall this night.

Ted climbed out of the bed and quietly shut the door after him.

***

The day was nervous in its course. Actually, it's been a long time since Ted constructed himself a branch of algorithms to deal with emotions of high intensity in case they threatened to make his beautiful quick brains burn like tinder. Firstly, you can get high. This way is the simplest and tested by many generations, but Ted had promised himself to never try it again. Secondly, you can work. Albeit the fact that you had already done everything in the preceding days of paroxysmal workaholism. You can recheck everything, of course, but Ted had already rechecked it five times.

The next point was the gym. Done. Emmett did not turn up there and hung up on Ted saying: "Sorry, baby, I am very busy." On the one hand, he hung up. On the other hand, his sounded upset, but not angry. The "I need to think a little" kind of voice, and not the "slump into a slit, you fucking faggot" kind. Yet another way to alleviate stress was to take a guy home and take his pants off (the sequence of activities is important in this case). A blonde guy at the next treadmill most conveniently sent Ted something like a non-verbal text, but Ted was so worn out that some embarrassment could happen. OK, the last way: to go home and fall asleep. There also was a space for embarrassment, but at least not harmful for his reputation.

The goddamned house. Nobody knows for sure, what is going on there when Ted is out, but as soon as he gets in, an endless nightmare begins. This is the bathroom where Blake went, having thrown his suit on the floor, when a small vial rolled out of his pocket. This is the counter that met Emmett's loins when he was forwarded by a loving hand. And there, opposite the window, his old friend was listening to some discourses he certainly remembers. Ted does not really, but his bitch of a memory has no trouble reproducing a quivering chin, conglutinated eyelashes and the main thing — the fact that afterwards Emmett had disappeared from this house and left a crowd of ghosts instead of himself. And, finally, this is the couch on which Ted and Blake had their placid conversation, talked like adults, you know, — politely and with smiles, holding each other's hands — and decided that both of them had grown out of that union. Blake with his mesmerizing voice really persuaded Ted then. Neurotic foundation of the relationship. Unclosed Gestalts. Necessity to move on. First you have to ask several question to which your opponent will answer "yes". The contact is established, and everything decided from now on is decided by us collectively.

Ted felt like throwing, say, this lamp against the wall, but instead he just adjusted its position slightly. Emmett's ghost tried to move it closer to the corner of the table, but who is listening to ghosts. Ted took a shower and went to bed. Recalled warm Emmett's hand caressing his cock. He should have gone with that blonde tonight, that could have worked out.

***

The next week dragged on just like that idiotic day. Emmett answered his calls by the same "Busy, sweetie, busy" and promised to call when free. Ted would have been pleased to load himself with work (about 190 hours per week would have been just enough), but business obeys to its own cycles, and, as ill luck would have it, there was nothing to do at the agency that week.

Ted wondered where he could be taught to play the pipe organ. To hang out with Brian in Babylon was a dubious pleasure — but better than nothing. Ted even hooked someone, but changed his mind and set the prey free — let it return to the Liberty Jungle.

He tried to read but was unable to concentrate on anything and dropped that undertaking.

He went to see Michael and Ben. Mikey himself had not seen Emmett for several days, but was able to narrate a plenty of extremely exciting stories about Hunter's academic progress.

"Aeons will not make me forget such kindness!" Ted was thinking with an extreme expression of benevolent attention on his face. "Before this,I had been unable to eat or to sleep — so hard I had been thinking of how old Hunter's college life was going on."

He badly wanted to talk to Melanie, but had to restrict himself to a short phone call and a promise to come to her place — as soon as he had time. Certainly, the most logical thing was to go to Debbie's, but…

Montserrat Figueras was singing "Amor! Amor!", when there was a knock at Ted's door at last.

Magenta shirt, blue pants, pink tie… By the looks of it, the pains of hair loss had been overcome.

Emmett was holding a package from Thai restaurant.

"Delivery."

"Thanks, Em, but I do not eat quick carbs." Certainly, his voice turned out angry. If you let me out of the lamp three blocks away from here, I will give you palaces and securities. If you do that four blocks from here, I will rip your head off.

"Teddy. We are in for a conversation," when this word is pronounced in italics, do not expect anything good. "According to the script, this should have been a bottle. But you do not drink, so let us at least eat these fucking dumplings."

The food was put on the table and unpacked. Resonant strenuous chewing was established.

"Teddy, please excuse me for getting out of touch."

"Well, you did not get out of touch. You were answering my calls, for what I am certainly…"

"Wait. I really had to think. And I thank you for giving me the opportunity to do it."

"Oh, when it comes to that, I am second to none. Especially when I have no other choice."

"I had been touched beyond measure by what you had said then. And by the fact that you had left."

"You had been touched by the fact that I had left?"

"Well, I really was upset and drunk. And you acted like…"

"Like… how did Brian put it? An asexual eunuch?"

"Like a friend."

Ted heaved a sigh.

"And, certainly, Teddy, I was really moved by this friendly hairstyle of yours. But never do that again. It looks horrible indeed."

"And here I was supposing I had reached a non plus ultra of my gorgeousness. After all, folks at work did allude to something, and I was failing to understand…"

"On the bright side, you can stop dying your hair. You will look good with grey hair."

"Do you think so?"

Ted put the last spring roll into his mouth and fixed his gaze on a pile of emptied boxes. They need to be cleared from here.

"You told me you wanted it more than anything else in your life."

"Grey hair? It is unlikely."

"Can you stop clowning?"

"Look, Em. It is a marvel that you kept all that in mind, and I regret coughing it up. I told you everything into my letter few years ago. That I would not have been surprised if you had not forgiven me, because I certainly will never forgive myself. That I am sorry, because I destroyed everything. That…"

"I remember."

"So, what do you want to tell me?"

"You know, Ted, it is incredibly valuable for me when someone cares for my feelings so much. By the way, despite… All in all, you do and always did it much more often than anyone else."

"You are taking much more care of me, Em…"

"And also I adore men with such hairstyle."

"You just said that it looks horrible," Ted finally started to sweep the Thai food boxes into a plastic bag.

"It is pleasant to touch!"

"Huh?" Ted left the boxes alone and sat down.

Emmett put his hand on Ted's nape and said, "Look, it's been such a long time…"

"Yes, and..."

And then Emmett kissed him. The world exploded and recomposed itself. Stars burst in the sky with loud crackling, rain washed them away, and some totally different ones appeared. Seeds were opening with silent whisper, new grass was growing out of them, small chartreuse spirals were uncoiling and shooting out flower buds. Colors acquired absolutely unexpected shades. Music in the speakers stopped for a second and disintegrated into separate chords that merged again into some totally different harmony. Ted could have sarcastically recalled being high and experience another rush of guilt, but honestly, not a single thought came to his head then.

He pushed his small table away from the couch, kneeled in front of Emmett and unzipped his pants. Here we'd rather let our screen fade out and return after a while.

***

So, here is the camera report. Emmett is on the couch, his chest and elbows on its back-rest. Ted is standing behind, his chin held high, and trying to catch his breath. Finally, he is falling, chest first, on his friend's back, kisses his nape, neck, ears — until starting to sob brokenly.

"Hey, Teddy, what is it?" Emmett got out of the hug, turned his face to Ted and kissed him, smearing his tears. Ted snivels and stifles. "Damned tearful faggot," he thinks to himself.

"Teddy, stop it, or I also will cry," Emmett whispers.

"'The Naked', a fountain! A 'trivial kingly chic' style performance, only today, only for you," Ted laughs through tears.

You can cry me a river, cry me a river. I cried a river over you.

Emmett nestled more comfortably on the couch, Ted leaned his back against Emmett's chest.

"Em, I never thought you could yell like that! Seems like, after such powerful gospels I will have to quit the condo."

"Teddy, since when do you rim? You have always told it leads to intestinal infection."

"From this day I declare the magic world of rimming open to myself. Fuck intestinal infection."

"Every time I think I know you, you disclose new talents. Give me a tissue, I need to at least blow my nose."

"Me too," said Ted and added in a sing-song voice, "They were cuddling, all drenched in sweat, tears, snot and the juice of their love."

"You are such a romantic!"

Then they showered. And after the shower Emmett started to put on his clothes.

Ted wanted to ask his friend not to go, but kept silent. He wanted to ask, what next, but kept silent all the more. There was no use in asking: the bedroom was occupied. Two ghosts were having sex on it. Kind of sex. One said angrily: "At least jerk me off!" The other sighed and squeezed some lube on his hand. Certainly, Em also saw those two through the door closed to a crack. And certainly, he does not want to stay at all. Everything is clear. Ted was biting the inner side of his cheek, Emmett was looking for his tie. At last Em looked at Ted, came back to the couch and hugged his friend.

"Teddy, sweetie, all is well."

"Will I see you again?"

"Lord, what kind of question is that, of course you will!"

"Sure?"

"Sure, of course! Do you remember, I promised you not to vanish anywhere?"

"I also promised a lot to you."

Is it not amazing, how much liquid can be generated by an organism. Some more tears, and he could die of dehydration.

"Teddy, please stop. We will meet tomorrow, as usual. Lunch, supper?"

Ted paused to think for a second.

"I have plans for lunch. I will pick you up in the evening."

"Ha! Plans! Well, see you tomorrow, sweetie!"

Emmett kissed his friend on his forehead and left with a quiet click of the door. Ghosts at various corners of the room stopped cursing, sobbing and arguing — and stared perplexedly at their master.

Ted ditched the remnants of Thai dinner at last, wiped his table and turned his laptop on. Tomorrow he will meet Jennifer, but he may as well look it up in the Internet. Obligatory: an inner yard with some pastoral roses.

Brian's ghost appeared in the dining room, in tongues of fire, and roared with demonic laughter.

Ted told him to fuck off.


	3. Ghostly Punchfest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clash of titans (damn, of course not that, but the clash of a titan and an accountant) had been woven by Nornir in the depths of unrecorded time.

Actually, not many people wish to be punched in the face by Drew Boyd. Well, certainly, such people do exist, but Ted, albeit all his masochistic inclinations, was not interested at all in being punched in the mug by Drew Boyd. And he was feeling highly uncomfortable when he was sprawling behind Debbie's overturned couch and looking for a way to pick up his brain from the floor. Just in case, Ted multiplied two three-digit numbers in his mind, and then he started to scrutinize the goings-on. Firstly, Emmett was yelling. The subject of his yelps was amazingly convoluted. Actually, whatever Em did recently seemed amazing to Ted, and the yelps hardly could be an exclusion. Secondly, Drew Boyd kept silent, but judging by the angry panting, he was somewhere in the proximity.

It probably would make sense to play dead. No doubt, this is how Ted would have certainly acted, if it had not been for the possible need to save Emmett. Supposedly, there was no threat to the safety of the magic fairy from the side of Drew Boyd, since the Perky Kickoff, but who knows. At any rate, just now the nervous falsetto uttered between the cobwebs of frantic curses the following dangerous words: "I love, I loved, and I will love."

Of course that was very inspiring, and so, with blood dripping from his nose, the mighty and heroic white knight Theodore started to crawl on all fours from behind the couch.

Actually, the goings on could hardly have been avoided. The clash of titans (damn, of course not that, but the clash of a titan and an accountant) had been woven by The Three Fates in the depths of unrecorded time. Ted had not expected it to take place that very day, but scarcely any signs had been implied. Like, first a Drew Boyd poster falls on you, and then Drew Boyd in the flesh. So, it was just another day in a row, no more appropriate than any other, for being buried behind a couch.

Everything was great at the start. Ted went to Debbie's to pick up his friend for a romantic supper and said he'd booked a table at a restaurant. Emmett answered that home was good enough for a romantic supper. Ted balked for a little while and then cancelled the reservation.

"How handsome you are, my beloved! Your eyes are like sapphires under your gorgeous forehead; especially from this perspective: when you are kneeling in front of me and look at me from below, unzipping my pants. Your lips are like a pink ribbon, and as for your teeth, I will not think of them now."

Ted's rather liberal interpretation of the "Song of Songs" was interrupted by a knock at the door. And it was persistent: ignorable at first, but then it turned into such a violent rumble that Emmett went to open the door. And how wrong he was to do so! Ted zipped up his pants just in time to be punched in the nose and fall. Or rather, no, to perform an incredibly spectacular flight over the couch and to hit the floor by his nape behind it. And, actually, his fate had been kind to him, because tumbling behind a couch with your pants down is much more awkward.

This damned couch soon will have been examined from all possible perspectives: Drew Boyd broke away from his ex-boyfriend's arms and kicked Ted in his ribs. The knightly emprise was nipped in the bud. 

After that, it looked like Drew Boyd got bored and left, naturally resolving the dubious situation. His prostrated adversary was taking part in it as just a relatively inanimate object, unable to say anything for sure. 

***

They decided to keep Ted in the hospital for several days. They set his nose and checked his head. They found a light brain concussion — not much of a surprise, really, for it had been a long time since peace and quiet had paid their last visit to his brain case.  A rib was broken. All in all, he had got off relatively easy — for a headlong collision with a tank. Emmett was spoon-feeding the sufferer, the sufferer was sulking cozily and getting a kiss for every spoonful. That is what Michael and Brian found them doing.

"Is it my imagination, or are Pippin and Merry fucking again?" Brian asked in his special-purpose high fruity voice meant for creation of distinct atmosphere of unanimous disgust. "Or rather, Pippin and Gollum?”

"Melian and Gollum," Ted corrected[i].

"Is that right, guys?" Mikey asked with joyful amazement, turning around from the flowers he was arranging on the bedside chest. 

Ted murmured something incomprehensible and gave a questioning look to Emmett.

"Who is that guy Melian?" the latter asked.

"In any dubious situation it is recommended to slip into coma," Ted thought.

Everything was kinda sophisticated. Ted hardly had expected Emmett to move in with all his belongings immediately after their boisterous reunion, but nevertheless he was discouraged. That new house had been shown to his friend (damn, he and Brian have such birdy mating habits), and the latter had approved the idea of the move, curiously scrutinized small thicket of rhododendron and promised to help with packing stuff into boxes.

Ted asked him to take care of interior design. Emmett agreed gladly and offered a subdued combination of gray and beige colors. Ted elaborated that he wanted something more orgiastic, purple, peach or even, bless us, magenta, but his best friend was skeptical about that and replied that in such a house Teddy would feel out of place. Basically, he returned all punts and ignored all hints. Only one thing remained — to ask a direct question, but who wants to put a loved one in an awkward situation. Certainly, this explanation was meant for inducing self-affection: in reality, Ted did not want to complicate everything by an imminent rejection and to spoil gorgeous sex.

"How are you?" Michael asked in his special kind voice meant for warming the cold and curing the sick. 

"Just fine," Ted answered with a smile of a man who is dying amongst his nearest and dearest but trying to look cheerful.

Mikey really was a splendid person. He understood at once that the topic of hobbit sex needed to be left alone.

"But on earth what happened? Mom said you were beaten up!"

"I was indeed. I was cleaning a trout, and suddenly it slipped out of my hands and almost bit my nose off. Do you see the bandage? Em tried to kill the bloody wretch with a frying pan, but missed it…"

"Will you file a complaint?"

"About the trout? I do not think it makes sense: while I was lying here, the fish certainly became foul." 

When a valiant knight is in torment because of his wounds, he does not plead: "Oh, jail those naughty enemies!" He silently and stoically stuffs  himself with jelly and secretly hopes  that after the battle his fair armor-bearer will think to show out the noble lordships of his comrades and give him head. 

Mikey patted Ted's shoulder, Brian opened his mouth with stylish laziness — he wanted to say something, and it is great that we will never know what, — but then something horrible happened. Someone had used secret runes to inscribe the blackest of the curses, and an elf clad in a turquoise cloak entered the tent noiselessly. Fuck Brian with his fantasy associations! Simply put, Emmett almost dropped the jelly on Ted, and Ted jumped in his bed: because suddenly Blake entered the ward.

With polite "We will come over later", Mikey dragged Brian outside. Emmett quizzically lifted his brows, Ted grabbed Emmett's hand and asked Blake: "How did you find out that I was here?"

"Do you remember I told you I would do my residency training in clinical psychology here? I saw your name and came to see what was up."

"Ah, right, the residency… What was up… Well...You know, I tried to fuck a BDSM mannequin, it fell on me, buried me under itself, and…"

Blake smiled gently.

"How are you?"

That damned kind and sad voice. Soft, pleasant, deep, calming. That damned stare. Understanding, nurturing, tender. Ted's voice quivered.

"All is well, Blake. I am all right. Could you please leave me with my partner?"

Uh-oh, the P-word has been uttered. Sirens are wailing, flappers are flapping, squad cars are walloping to the ditch. Getaways started to pop up in Ted's head. Firstly, he can tell Emmett he used the word partner to get rid of Blake. Although, if his friend himself considers the two of them partners, an embarrassing situation can be created by such a claim. Secondly, he can keep silence, but then Em will keep silence too, adding up to the hideous understatement by which Ted has already been fed to teeth. And also Em may decide Ted wanted to make Blake jealous — and, dammit, there will be a grain of truth. Ted cast a glance at Emmett, but the latter's face did not express anything worth of panic.

"I only wanted to tell…" Blake started, but then Em opened his tantalizing mouth and said firmly,

"Take a walk down Hole Street."

Blake smiled with his moving tender smile — and left.

"Open your mouth, sweetie!" Em said and brought a spoonful of jelly to Ted's lips.

Ted obediently licked the spoon, hugged his friend's waist and nuzzled the top of his head into his friend's side.

***

Next day,  the friends drove the wounded comrade home. While Emmett in the kitchen was warming up lasagna brought by Debbie, Ted was habitually descending into the bottomless abyss of murky and dramatic doubts.

"I loved, I love and I will love!" Who was he talking about, after all?

Well, all indications are that he was talking about Ted. But all kinds of heads and tails can be attached to this phrase. Like, "Dear Drewsie, this creep in unzipped pants resorted to trickery to gain entry to my house, but it is you whom I loved, I love and I will love!". Although, why then did he mention some fucking asshole? Well, for example, "Dear Drewsie, this hideous stalker you behold is a detestable infernal pig in human disguise. I loved, love and will love you, but, fucking asshole, it was rather uncourteous to stain the whole carpet with blood". Or even, "Rhinestones are what I loved, love and will love, and you, fucking asshole, understood the loveliness of rhinestones only after I left you in tears of despair! And now I will return only on one condition: if you set in rhinestones a full length portrait of Barbra Streisand on the wall of our bedroom".

In essence, it was perfectly clear to Ted that his concussed brain was generating delirium, but he was not able to brush it off, because Emmett had not cared to bring even a bag with a change of underwear.

"Em!" called the sufferer in a husky voice of a person that is staring into the eyes of death. Certainly, his friend rushed up to the bedroom. "Em, what did you tell Drew Boyd then?"

"That I will rip his balls off and shove them into his throat if he lays a finger on you."

Wow! This moment has to be memorized in case of sexual debility — to be used instead of Viagra.

"You also said, 'I loved, I love and I will love'".

"Yes, I did, Teddy. Anyway, may I return to the oven?"

"I also always loved, love and will love you."

"Sure, honey, we are best friends!" and he ran away.

It was a perfect timing for the sound of shattered glass. And the sound came, because Emmett pulled a glass pan out of the oven, and it happened to be, what do you know, hot. Damn Em. If he is in a mood to ignore something, he will ignore it. 

***

A couple of days passed. Ted always loathed being stuck home on sick leave, and now he was sitting in bed in briefs and an old T-shirt with a cartoon cat and was trying to cotton on to some Kinnetic bills. He still had a bit of trouble focusing his vision, and any exertion was giving him a headache. Having received a business email from Ted, Brian called him fucking nerd and told him to sleep it off. But one can only sleep, say, fourteen hours in a row, no more. A neurologist had banned Ted from reading for a while, movies were giving him aching eyes, but two or three papers do not count, do they?  

Sooner or later evening will come, accompanied by his friends. Of course, it would be nice if Emmett came alone. But he had not spent much time one on one with Ted since the epochal battle. It wasn't that Ted wanted sex (hardly anybody can be made romantic by nausea and dizziness), but the trend in itself was oppressing. 

There was a knock at the door. Ted tossed on his bathrobe and opened the door. He was confident, that it was Debbie again. But fuck it was. He had to burn this damned T-shirt; some wicked magic was obviously lurking in it.

"Look, sorry, I have guests here!" Ted told Blake, trying to shut the door.

"No guests here. Except perhaps Alessandro Scarlatti: none of your friends listen to baroque opera. And I also recognize this funny T-shirt."

Ted wrapped himself tighter in his bathrobe and felt glad that at least it was not Brian at his door.

"I came to ask how you are," Blake said.

"More or less like a pregnant dyke, as far as I can see. I am praying to be spared of labor. And now, please go away."

"Ted, I will go. But once I've come to see you. Let's talk at least for a little while."

Blake took Ted's hand and tried to lead him to the middle of the dining room. Ted withdrew his hand, but also withdrew himself from the door and sat down on the couch. Blake took a seat next to him.

"So, what do you want to say?" Ted asked.

"So, are you and Emmett together again?"

"I do not know yet, but I hope that yes, we are."

"Hmmm... I see." A brief silence. "Actually, I have been wanting to ask you for a long time, why are you still so angry at me. It has been more than a year already. I by no means wanted to hurt you. It seemed to me, we had a wonderful, even beautiful, conversation, and we decided to remain friends." Ted shook his head nervously and started to blink swiftly. "But you never called, never answered my messages and barely let me into the house where we'd lived together for two splendid years. I need to know why." Blake gave his ex-partner a couple of minutes to enjoy yet another influx of guilt and, before Ted recalled that it had been Blake who had once offered not to see each other again.

(Well, it would be fair to assume that, considering all that emotions, Blake himself was likely to forget that fact).

Then he continued in his mesmerizing voice, "And I also want to tell you that I have missed and miss you very much."

Well, the last bit was pronounced with a hell of a poignancy. Especially when paired with an intent, warm and endlessly loving stare of blue translucent eyes. Fucking hypnotist, he was quite fit to perform at a circus. Apparently realizing he was on the right track, Blake put his hand on Ted's thigh. And Ted shivered. His flesh began to crawl and then became hard and erect in all possible and impossible places, including, as it seemed to him, even his nasal hair. He felt hell of a desire to blow Blake, to bang him in the ass, to seize his ex by the hair and fuck his throat as deeply as possible. Ted screwed up his eyes and clenched his fists, and then Blake touched his cheek gently and kissed him.

And Ted answered the kiss.

The thin lips, the soft tongue in his mouth, the subtle touch, the feeling of that skin under his fingers, the scent, the sound of breath. How badly he missed all that for so many months! Between now and then Ted slept with a crowd of people as multitudinous as a big wind orchestra in an attempt to get rid of those intrusive memories at least for a little while. There were endless Todds, Petes, Steves… Damn, why do they always announce that absolutely excessive information?...  And there was Emmett — and quite a different situation. Emmett could open the door with his key every minute now and see, how Blake…

Ted tried to withdraw, but Blake seized his nape and pulled him closer. Then Ted rudely shove Blake from the couch and yelled:

"Get the fuck out of here!"

"Ted..." Blake started.

"Don't you understand that you have no right to do this to me?! Have you ever watched what you were doing?!"

"Ted..."

"Do you remember, when I was still in rehabilitation, and you also came to me and dropped your pants."

"Well, frankly speaking, you did not make me put them back on."

"I was fuck over hills in love with you and thought you would stay. And you went, like, 'Oh, it was not right, I will go, the timing is so wrong.' Did you think about what would happen to me next?! Did you think that that very day I would get fucking high and go through another round of that hell? That again I might die because of you?!"

"I did not imagine..."

"You never imagine. You always do this to me without a second thought, just because you want it and had missed it. Get out of here! I do not want to see you ever again!"

"Ted, we've never before discussed…"

"We are doing it now. Go fuck yourself!"

Blake grabbed his coat and stormed out of the condo. Ted threw a lamp after him, and it shattered against the door.

O cessate di piagarmi, o lasciatemi morir![ii]

TBC

 

 

[i]  
                    [i] Brian and Ted are making allusions to JRR Tolkien's legendarium.

[ii]

                    [ii] Stop torturing me or let me die. (Italian) This is a quotation from a song by Alessandro Scarlatti.


	4. Theodor's Rib

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprisingly happy a person may be with brain commotion, nasal septum dislocation and... eeeyouch, fuck, fuck, fuck that goddamn rib!!!

Sometimes dreams come true: in the evening Emmett came alone. The Beauty awoke the Beast with a kiss in his ear and a question, what had happened and why the floor of the condo is scattered with glass. A couple of hours ago Ted tried to sweep it away, but felt giddy, so he took off the goetic (from the word "goetia") T-shirt, ditched it, then returned to bed and fell asleep right on the printouts of the bills.

"Well, did you see a mop in the corridor? I was learning to fly on it, but apparently something went wrong."

Emmett put his cool hand on his friend's forehead:

"Angry?"

Oh, what a beautiful and timely remark. Ted desperately welcomed the opportunity to lay the blame on Drew Boyd and keep silence about the epiphany of Blake.

"Who would not be angry! It felt as if a grand piano fell on me from a roof. Fucking Drewsie must feel happy that I did not report the attack to the police."

"Why didn't you?"

This conversation also did not arouse any desire to continue it, and Ted lapsed into gloomy silence. As Emmett observed a thousand years ago, there are things you cannot tell your boyfriend, no matter how much you love him. Damn this isolation: Blake went down Hole Street, Melanie moved to Canada, Mikey did not need being involved in all those twists and turns, and Emmett… it was unclear whether he could be deemed Ted's boyfriend, but just in case it was better to abide by the code. And according to the boyfriend code one should not tell his sweetheart about ambiguous visitors. On the bright side, you can say some other things. For example, to ask for something that always beautifies hours (days, months, years) of particularly strong existential disgust.

"Em, fuck me, please."

The friend lifted his brows.

"Do you want me to fuck you?"

"Yes."

Emmett, may God bless him, made no comments and just undressed, brushed the printouts under the bed and lay down next to his friend. Ted turned over on his side and asked Emmett to be careful: it is a terribly grotesque death for two love mates — to die in the surge of passion, being pierced by a fragment of broken rib. Emmett tenderly hugged Ted from his back, kissed him on the neck and promised him to be very, very careful. 

***

Ted turned over on his back and gestured Emmett to lean on his shoulder. Emmett came over to the other side of the bed and placed his head into the groove under Ted's collarbone, that had been made by nature specifically for this purpose. 

"Can you stay?"

"Overnight? Okay."

Ted pecked his friend's nape, then lay still for a while, then disgustingly began to think. Why did Emmett decide to stay today? Because Ted shattered the lamp? Because Drew almost shattered Ted's head? Guilt or compassion? Or, maybe, desire at last? Then why had not the desire gain such intensity in the preceding month? It is hardly guilt, or else he could have stayed either yesterday or two days ago. So, it is compassion. Hello, Aunt Pity Fuck? But what if he had known that hours ago Ted had been kissing Blake in such a way, that almost paid tribute to his youth by coming before going for it? Emmett had already started to snore softly when Ted asked him in dramatic whisper:

"But you don't want to stay, do you?"

Emmett rubbed his eyes, looked at Ted and frowned.

"What made you think of this?"

"You've never stayed at my place since…"

"Ted, what do you want from me now?"

"But what do you want for yourself? Why do you always do what I want, and not you?" Ted felt disgustedly that an itch to make a scene was kindling inside him in the darkness of the night, but could not help it. The show must go on! "Why do you always pity me? Am I a monopode dog with anal epilepsy?"

"Teddy, look, if you asked me to top you just to make up for it later and fuck my brain, I will not put out. Do you want me to stand up, go away and give you the opportunity to become mad, crash furniture and pity yourself? No way. I am staying with you. And now shut up, please, and sleep." 

Ted shut up but did not fall asleep. He started to think about Emmett. All that boyfriend stuff is true for the both sides, and his best friend also completely ceased telling him about his own feelings. It's a good thing he stays at Debbie's place and discusses the goings on with her. Ted's thought jumped to the times of the Great Fall of Theodore Schmidt. Poor Em, it's a marvel he had withstood that all! Did he have any rights for his endless fuck-ups after acting like that? Did he have any right at all to lie next to Emmett in bed? Next to this amazingly wise, noble, patient and loving man, with mind and body so well-endowed. Was not it astonishing that such a fucking asshole can be so lucky to be around such a person – even as a friend with benefits?

Ted started to sniffle and tried to hug Emmett. Acute pain in his rib made him shriek. Startled, Emmett leapt up with even louder scream, accidentally striking his mate in the ear. Oh, those warm fuzzy moments! 

***

By the time Mikey came, Ted had already eaten his breakfast cooked by Emmett and fallen asleep again. His bumped brain was demonstrating a production of a porn opera. Ted was its director. In his dream, he was fulminating: "Why is there hair on your scrotum?! How the fuck did you prepare?! Nobody knows how to sing! Did they hire you through a bus advertisement? Who is drumming the scene with his balls?" Gradually he realized, that even the toughest balls cannot make such noise, and woke up.

Michael unpacked the food Debbie sent. It looked like, when recovered, Ted would have to diet himself on wholegrain crispbreads and water. And if he had sued Drew Boyd - as a matter of fact, Mel had been firmly insisting on it in a phone call ; it would have been reasonable to do so on the account of abrupt obesity. He would have won a mint of money and made another liposuction.

"How are you?" everybody asks this question several times a day. Of course, it is very pleasant, especially for the first two days, but he'd better come up with some other answer than his usual "great" — just for the sake of diversity. For some reason, nothing but "it would have been fine, but for tentacles growing from my ass" was taking into his head. Although, when your head is taken by ass tentacles, there is little hope for smooth conversation. 

"Fascinating!" The ageless classics. "Thank you, Mikey."

"And how is Emmett?"

"Emmett? This morning he went to talk to a chef. Didn't you go to Woody's together yesterday?"

"We did. Did he tell you?"

"Told me what?"

Ted braced himself for Mikey to balk, but, thankfully, that did not happen.

"Well, yesterday Drew Boyd turned up to Woody's."

Here we also need the sound of shattered glass, but this time Ted himself was warming up the lasagna, and he was using a potholder.

"And what did he want?"

"He demanded that Emmett talk to him, and Em yelled at him and tried to punch him in the face."

"Oh my God!"

"Well, we prepared to break them up, but Drew Boyd spat and walked away. And Em went to your place. We also had been planning to visit you, but he told us he wanted to be alone with you."

Fuck. So, that's what happened to Emmett yesterday. The friend needed some solace, and Ted acted as an asshole. How could be so self-centered! The hub of universe, around which galaxies are revolving. The whole world was created for one and only reason — to put Theodore Schmidt into the vortex of suffering, incessantly. Outside time, outside space, everything is happening only with him, for his sake and around him.

Mikey was saying something else, but Ted had stopped listening to him.

"To New York," his friend finished telling his story. Ted nodded, said "I see" and simulated exhaustion.

Mikey patted his friend on the back, wished him to get well soon and left. And Ted gave Emmett a call:

"Will you come over?"

"Yes, let me just order a hundred of avocado at the warehouse, and I will be free."

"Em... I love you."

"I love you too, sweetie. Do you want some avocado?"

"No. I mean, yes. I mean, I will be glad to have whatever you bring."

"Including pant rabbits?"

"What?"

"Nothing, Teddy, I am almost at your place."

***

Ted ordered flower delivery and decorated the condo with bouquets. He warmed up the food, lit some candles and started getting annoyed by the circularity of that "almost", but then his best friend came in. And yes, the surprise did bemuse him. For quite a while Emmett was running around the condo, screaming with delight, from one vase to another, and then kissed Ted, ate a plate of carbonara, did the dishes, sat down next to his friend and slid his hand under the latter's T-shirt.

"Em, wait."

"Yes, Teddy. Your rib. I remember. How the fuck you scared me at night! If I get enuresis, it will be your fault."

Ted went silent. Damn, now they will have sex. Or they won't, if he starts to sort out their relationship again. But if he makes a habit to sort it after sex, it will be the dumbest habit on Earth. It would make anyone weep and hide in a closet as soon as he hears the word "fuck". Of course, it would be ideal just to keep silence, but in this case words will pop out at the most inappropriate moment, and it would be equal to splooging yourself during an opera intermission. All the more so, this kettle has been boiling for a month already, and soon its lid will be blown the fuck off. And if something goes wrong, this situation at least allows him to lie down and play dead. So, the time has come. 

"Em, what is going on between us, anyway? This Brian's 'Pippin and Merry are fucking again' thing? Or…"

"Did Brian say 'Gollum and… Melanie'?"

"May it be even Glorfindel and a regiment of Uruk-hais," Ted sighed. "You are the bravest and the most honest person I know. Answer just one question for me: what are you afraid of?"

Ask this question and jump out of the window immediately for not hearing the answer. It is very dramatic. Bang!

"Teddy, please, let us not discuss it. These pretty peonies, dinner, your hair has started to grow at last and you do not look like a thug anymore... Although, with your nose smashed you still look like one. But… it makes you very masculine!"

This is your last opportunity to shut up. But this damned kettle is already whistling as a devil.

"Are you afraid that I may go into a tailspin again?"

Emmett sulked and tried to move over, but Ted hugged him and pressed his forehead to Emmett's temple.

"I do not know, Ted. In that period, I've been thinking a lot, what I had done wrong."

"What you had done wrong?!" Ted raised his eyebrows in surprise and looked into his friend's eyes. 

"What had I been able to say and do for not letting all that happen to you."

"Em, you had been unable to help that. Maybe, an exorcist…"

"That is it, Teddy. I had been thinking about that a lot and understood that there had been nothing I could have done or told. And this is what scares me most of all."

"That will never, never, never happen again."

"Even so, something else may happen."

"Anything may happen to anybody."

Ted could have reminded his friend about lovers who suddenly cheat with women, turn out to be hustlers, run away from rehab, leaving behind a fucking CD, die into a plane toilet (it would make for a hell of a weekend — to do all that at once) and a thousand of similar things. Certainly, none of that can beat drug frenzy with orgies and stealing from friends. Although, no, the death in the toilet tops even this. Anyhow, Ted mentioned nothing of that, because he did not want to upset his friend anymore. Instead he kissed Emmett and repeated:

"Anything can happen to anybody, Em. But at least until it happens we will be together. And I will do my best for you to be much happier with me, than without me."

"I am always much happier with you than without you, Teddy."

Ted took his friend's hand and kissed it.

"Then drop your pants and give me your fabulous bubble butt! I have to practice."

"Yes, sir!"

Kissing Emmett here and there, Ted thought: "Thank you, dear Drew Boyd! Who knows what would have happened, if it had not been for your foul fists. And now go and fuck yourself". It is surprising, how happy someone may be with a concussion, nasal septum dislocation and... eeeyouch, fuck, fuck, fuck that goddamn rib!!!

TBC

 


	5. French Baguette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gorgeous night, fabulous day.

           It could not have been a better time for a full-scale vacation. But last month someone was slugging it on a sick leave and then was buried under a pile of urgent documents. Ted was ready to cry happy tears when he finally got a chance to bail out at least for a weekend. Purchase of the new house had not increased his money supplies, but shares had climbed neatly, and after the sale of the condo, he would be able not to think about this stuff for a while. In the wake of his shattering porn site fiasco, Ted eventually started to buy securities. Luckily, his salary at last allowed to invest the surpluses. He was doing alright and apparently could afford a small luxury.

         For instance, to fulfill his boyfriend's longstanding dream. So now Ted was lying on a posh bed in a five-star hotel in the center of Paris and trying his best to get all that boring crap out of his head.

         Apparently, of all sights seen that day Emmett particularly liked Galleries Lafayette with its stained glass dome and endless shops. When they returned to their suite with huge bags, he in the first place entertained Ted with a kind of fashion parade.  Demonstration of every apparel was accompanied by yelps of such admiration, that Ted could not help forgetting how much it costed him. Damn, for how long was he going to think about that? Honestly, just like with food. As soon as you think, "My, my! I am not hungry at all," your stomach starts to rumble.

         Ted felt embarrassed that even in the happiest day of his life (fine, one of the top ten) his euphoria sufficed only for several hours and was replaced by all those ludicrous financial regrets. Although, dammit, let them come, they always come if you do something so impractical. If you start to reprove yourself for them, you will drop out of reality altogether. And the reality, however you feel about it, had not been so sunny for fuck knows how many years. Above all, Emmett was happy to bits, and that had been the point. So Ted asked himself: "Do not nag at me, please!" and continued to behold the fashion parade.  

         To make the delight ultimately overfill Emmett, and finally sprinkle the eternally gloomy Theodore, the latter seized a moment in the pants interchange and gave his beloved head.

         "At home, I will give you the best sex of your life!" Emmett promised when he recovered his breath. 

         "Em, every time, the sex with you is the best in my life."

         "You just do not know what I am up to yet! I'm having a rush of inspiration! The only thing is, tomorrow I will need to drop into that huge shop next to Moulin Rouge. Can you please wait for me at a coffee house? I want to give you a surprise!"

         "That's so intriguing!" Ted made Emmett turn his back on him and demonstrated, how exactly intrigued he was. 

         He'd better not get too carried away: they were set to hit local gay clubs. Although…

***

         Gorgeous night, fabulous day. They walked from Champs-Elysees to Champ-de-Mars (and yes, not to capture a kiss against the background of the tower is too rebellious for a couple of respectable homos). From there, they went to the Seine embankment, to check out secondhand bookshops, then took a stroll around Cité, had a glimpse of Notre Dame, and finally headed for Lapérouse.

         "Teddy, why are there no prices in this menu?" Emmett asked, savoring yet another Kir Royal.

         It would be nice if at the moment of payment, he went to dust his nose. To end an awesome evening by a heart attack would be mauvais ton.

         "My love, they call this the ladies' menu. I would like you to think not about prices but, for instance, about the fact that in his day Hugo used to dine in this restaurant."

         "Fuck me!"

         "Oh yes, baby, I will!" thought Ted and said, "Have some chocolate soufflé, they've been cooking it here more than a hundred years."

         "Oh, I adore chocolate soufflé, Teddy. By the way, do you mind walking me to the bathroom?"

***

         Gorgeous night, fabulous day, awesome evening. But then, some damned airport taxi was driving through a veil and carrying the love mates from a fairy tale to prosiness. On the way Ted's bel-ami was singing huskily: "Il est beau comme le soleil, para-ra-rara-rara," demonstrating total complacency. So, fine, it was time to go home, to make some new money instead of the spent one.

         Ted returned from his sick leave when colleagues sent him a picture: his printed photo sandwiched between two pies rotating inside a turned-on microwave oven. As a matter of fact, it looked quite infernal and was exhorting Ted to work. 

         Folks at work met Ted by a kind of mini party, with cake, hugs and pats on his shoulders. It was just incredibly moving: neither at Wertchafter's, nor even in the Jerk-at-Work team Ted had encountered anything like that. He got so emotional that he slightly dabbled Cynthia's voluminous curls with his tears. Then Brian handed Ted a huge pile of papers, took away his plate ("The fifteenth lipo is not covered by your insurance!") and ordered him to get started.

         Ted got started and did not stop till nightfall although, actually, he had urges rather for sex than for work. To make his day a little brighter, he put a framed picture of Emmett on his table, then set another one as desktop, and then, on second thought, hung the third and the fourth ones on the wall. The fourth shot was the most beautiful, of Emmett wearing an unbuttoned shirt. It only remained to bring that very sparkling sign "Fetch" here and the picture would be complete.

         Having entered his accountant's office and heard yet another telephone crooning, Brian grumbled, "When they say that you should suck your man's ass, they mean it literally. Although, no, at such a rate you will make five more holes." Ted cast on him a go-fuck-yourself stare (it would be a cool superpower, he has to tell Mikey about it: just one look, and all your enemies are busy!) and handed him a pile of agreements —  to sign.

         It was a good thing that Ted had not been seventeen for quite a long time already, otherwise every agreement would have been adorned with graffiti: "Emmett. Em. Emmett. Emmettemmettemmett". Ted's head was so full with it that he even would not have hated to share with someone. Shame Cynthia is not gay! Ted greatly missed the opportunity to walk with a lesbian, listen to her stories, give her advice and once and again slightly raise the lid of his boiling kettle and throttle the steam: "As for Emmett and me…".

         In Paris it would have been the right time to offer his beloved to live together, but Ted had decided that it would look like a manipulation and turn his gift into a strategic maneuver "entice a squash into a hole".

***

         During the airport inspection an incident happened: a customs officer asked Emmett to open his suitcase.

         "Teddy, do not look, it is a surprise!" exclaimed Em. Ted turned away and for five minutes was curiously observing, how witnesses of that scene were changing their countenances. 

         "Mon dieu, but how?!" asked the Charles-de-Gaulle officer with a mixture of delight and horror.

         "I would have shown you, mon cher, but I already have le petit ami."

         When Ted heard the sound of closing zipper and turned back again, the hall was all but applauding.

         But on the plane Emmett grew sad. Ted took his mate's hand and tried to entertain him with small talk:

         "Mon amour, we are not grudge holding, are we? We won't make one of those horrible suppers with a slideshow demonstration from the trip, will we?"

         "I'd die first," answered Emmett sullenly, put on his eye patch and pretended to fall asleep.

         Too fucking bad that one cannot get to Europe on a taxi. Well, Ted could only hope that sometimes his ami would get new flight associations. For that they'd better go somewhere as often as possible — and then the most important thing will be not to go to blazes. Ted surrendered to his bookkeeping instinct and started to count, how much money he spent on that voyage. Perhaps it was time to ask the air hostess to bring him a paper bag. Or valium. Did they give valium in first class? 

 


	6. Lelio is waiting for Florindo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tear off your garments, Lelio!" asked Ted. "For Florindo is craving for you love."

         When they came home, the first thing Ted did was to order a morning delivery of flowers for Emmett. He recalled the happy smile and exuberant yelps of his loved one, their endlessly romantic kisses - and bought two tickets to Venice for the next weekend. After evaluating his finances again, he found some freelance projects. Ted decided to get started with them right away; anyway he had to get up soon and go to work. 

         Emmett offered him to have lunch out together, but there was a horrible backlog at Kinnetic. Ted barely had time to eat his protein bar between two meetings. He came home practically at night, finished his side job and fell asleep on the couch without getting undressed.

***

         Next evening Ted was sitting at his home computer and writing a statement when his beloved came.

         "Sorry, sweetie, I had no time to make supper," Ted said and kissed his friend without looking up from the screen. "On the bright side, a breathtaking surprise is waiting for you!"

         "Wow! A breathtaking surprise! That is worth making supper myself."

         "Thank you, my dear. I need to finish something."

         "I see, honey. What do you have here?" He looked inside Ted's fridge. "You have nothing. Do you want paella?"

         "Say what, my love?"

         "Will you eat paella?

         Ted got distracted again and forgot the question. Emmett kissed him on the forehead and ran off to buy groceries. He returned and cooked supper. Then he started to call his friend.

         "Sorry, sweetheart, but I am totally struggling to finish those statements on time. Please, eat alone, and then I will come and give you the surprise."

         Emmett apparently answered something, but Ted did not catch it. Two more hours whooshed past.

         "Teddy, what about going to bed?"

         "Great idea. Just let me finish."

         "Look, I did not come here to stare at your back. Get in here!"

         Ted yawned, turned off his laptop obediently and crawled under his blanket.

         "I am waiting for my surprise!" Emmett said, kissing his mate's ears.

         And the mate handed him printouts of tickets to Venice. The reaction was all right: Emmett squealed joyfully, clapped his hands and hugged his boyfriend.

         "I had hoped that you were not organizing any reception this weekend," Ted mumbled, suppressing yet another yawn.

         "Well, I have some errands, but in the interest of such a cause I will certainly cancel them. And now you will hear the acceptance speech. Although, no, you will not, since I am not a ventriloquist."

         Emmett kissed his sweetheart's neck and chest, and then started to tongue his nipple. Ted narrowed his eyes with pleasure – and woke up in the morning.

***

         Wednesday was identical to Tuesday. Thursday – to Wednesday. Somewhere Emmett was flashing by with teriyaki chicken and asking, whether Ted was eating anything at all. The latter answered that food is counter-indicative for homos of his age. The friend clearly was puzzled, but instead of reflecting on this, Ted gave him a blow job right in the Kinnetic office and returned to work. The chicken was probably consumed in the course of drawing up of agreements, but no one would bet on it.

         On Friday night they got on a plane. Eight and a half hours of blissful sleep. In the morning they arrived to Venice.

         This, certainly, was belissimo. Venice was freakingly similar to theatrical scenery. Houses were multicolored, the water in the channels was acid green, and tiny cute bridges arched over it. Every three feet, a passage in a wall unexpectedly turned out to be a street as wide as a human being, and small shops with bright masks and Vetro di Murano, as well as eateries with pizza were growing out along both sides of it like timber fungi. Everything was so minuto, so unreal, as if any moment a masked Insidious Villain could pop out through a hole in the curtain and stab you right into your heart with his sham dagger. Emmett was not yelping anymore, he was just looking around, dumbfounded, with his mouth hanging open. Ted bought him a Colombina mask and a feathered tricorne.

         First, the friends took a turn on vaporetto, then on a gondola. The loved one was so impressed by the fact that there are no automobile roads in Venice, and local houses are facing nothing but water, that he even did not want to kiss in the barcetta - he was just all eyes and the clear wonder of a child.

         Ted felt like a wizard that managed to transport his love-mate to an egregious fantastic world. It was a very pleasant feeling. And it would have been great to finish the day with fantastic sex, but, alas, Ted started to nod as early as at supper in a restaurant. He was feeling so drowsy that he barely managed to get himself and Emmett to their hotel. Actually, it was rather vexing, considering their tickets to the opera that had been bought in Pittsburgh.

         "Tear off your garments, Lelio!" asked Ted. "For Florindo is craving for you love."

         But before Lelio tore of his garments, Florindo started to snore.

         "Poor Teddy bear!" Emmett stroked his friend's hair, then undressed him and covered him with a blanket.

***

         Next morning, when Em returned to the suite with fresh panini and coffee, Ted was sitting in bed with his laptop.

         "Honey, are you drowning into the bureaucratic sea already?" the loved one asked, trying to withdraw the computer.

         "Sweetheart, I need to work just a little bit. I will finish it in no time at all, and we will go by vaporetto to see Castello," Ted answered.

         "Great, my precious, but what about having a break - and breakfast?”

         "No, sweetie, I don't want to get distracted now."

         Ted felt annoyed.

        "Look, baby, we are in Venice! Do you really want to waste this time with your face burrowed into your laptop?" Emmett was also not too serene.

        The annoyance increased.

        "My love, do not you understand that this journey cost me some money? And that money needs to be raised somehow?" 

        "Ted."

        Something was not balancing in the documents, there was some calculation error, and he needed to find it.

        "Ted!"

        "Now what?!"

        "Why do not I pay for the hotel?"

        "Because I paid for it already."

        If Emmett said something like "let me repay you the money", he was at risk to hear a lot of undesirable things.

        "Fine. Shall I wait for you?" Em was a wise man.

        "Sweetie, why don't you please take a little walk without me? Look, I outlined Larga XXII Marzo for you on this map. It is a street with plenty of fashion boutiques, you can get there by water taxi.  And I am sure you certainly will not want to leave here without a Vetro di Murano butt plug. When I am finished, I will call you and we will hook up, right? I am having a few small problems here."

        "Fine, Teddy. Solve your small problems."

        "Take my credit card!"

        "What shall I do with your credit card?"

        "I want to give you a heap of presents."

        "Come with me and go ahead."

        "Honey, boutiques are your scene! I will freeze at the door and be trampled down by hordes of wild Chinese. But please, let me please you. In two or three hours you will show me everything."

        "Fine, Teddy. But if I buy you something and it does not fit you, it will be your fault."

        "Sure, my love."

***

        About nightfall, Emmett, who had not yet received any calls from Ted, returned to the suite. Ted had completely lost track of time and was still sucking local wi-fi and sucking in general. In the bad sense of the word.

        "Theodore Schmidt. Soon, it will be sunset here. And at sunset I am planning to stand on Rialto bridge, look at Canal Grande and to kiss a handsome man. It is in your best interest to be him."

        "Sorry, honey. I got carried away. Of course let's go."

        Ted willed himself into turning off the laptop and dressing quickly.

        After all, when you suck, it is better to use your head — and better still to use it in more than one sense. And what about a quickie right now?

***

        From the airport, straight to Kinnetic — and everything started anew. Frankly, the money was not the problem.  Truly, at first money, naturally, was the problem (that trip to Florence he was planning would not pay for itself), but afterwards it was rather his brain that started to work absolutely differently and at a different rate.

        Of course, now and then, Ted was getting distracted and thinking of Emmett. Of his smile, how gracefully he moved, what a gorgeous ass he had and how he moaned with Ted's tongue in it. But those reminiscences did not captivate him for long and did not call him to any actions. His head was still chock-full with numbers and they were demanding him to streamline them with the stringency of diarrhea. Who cares about sex, when he is not only unable to eat, but also cannot sleep more than four hours in a row. Numbers were beating against the inner side of his skull and begging to be let out through his fingertips.

        But when you reach this stage of fatigue, you start to lose efficiency. And besides, it was time to move to the new house. Ted decided to sell his old furniture, to get rid of all memories attributed to them. So, at lunchtime he picked up Emmett, and they went to choose a bed. The beloved was angry: he had stayed overnight, and towards morning he was woke up by the rat-tat-tat of Ted's keyboard. Moreover, all his attempts to entice Ted into having sex were unsuccessful. Or rather, Ted tried to entertain his boyfriend with a dopey blow job, but his performance was so un-heartfelt that Emmett decided to shut up that shop.

        The friends came to a store and started to look for the right mattress.

        "How do you like this one?" Ted collapsed on a bed and pulled Emmett's hand, inviting him to join him.

        "A bit too soft. But it's your house and your bed, so decide for yourself."

        "Well, to be fair, your back touches its surface a little more frequently," it is a dangerous phrase for a person who does not want to force the situation and to ask his boyfriend to move in together. And even more dangerous for someone who had ended in such a shattering fiasco yesterday.

        Emmett sighed and pulled a caustic grimace. No, Ted has to pull himself together and give up at least a part of his side projects.

        "Do you remember, in Paris you promised me a present!" whispered Ted, trying to sound unbridled. "When can I get it?"

        "Well, when you will not be falling asleep at least during fisting."

        Emmett moved to another mattress.

        "Teddy, what about this one?"

        "Too firm. But if you want it, let us take it. That is, I do not want to say that you… that I…"

        The friend did not listen to this excruciating mumbling and continued to test mattresses.

        "Honey, try this one!  It's perfect, I believe."

        Ted lay down next to his friend and weltered for a little while.

        "You are my genius! You found the impossible ideal of mattressmaking."

        "Well, as long as you like it, let me buy it for you."

        "No need, Em. But I am really grateful to you for your offer. And the bed will have a wrought headboard, comfortable to hold on to?"

        "Yes, Teddy. It is very practical. Actually, I'd better tie your hands to it at night, lest they reach out for your computer at four a.m."

        Ted's inner shit demon whooped softly, but Ted did not give him free rein.

        "Oh, lest my hands would reach out! It made me so nostalgic for my adolescence!"

        "I heard, for adolescents they started to make special crosses, full length, with Velcros."

        "There are such crosses for adults as well! But, apparently, their purpose is quite the opposite."

        "I hear suppressed enthusiasm in your voice. Shall we go to Meat Hook on Friday, to check out the studs in leather?"

        "You know, recently a stylish suit looks much sexier for me than all those trivial peaked caps and ass pants. So I'd rather go to a biz meeting at Kinnetic."

        Emmett shook his head.

        Ted saw that and didn't want his mate to think he was all work and no play.

        "And, speaking of that cross," Ted tried to save the situation, "And speaking of using that cross, I am also much more turned on by a Dom wearing a suit. It would be just like a spy thriller."

        "Do you love spy thrillers?!"

        "Only in a certain sense, if you understand what I mean."

        "Aha! And what about a pink suit?"

        "Is there any other way to spy on Liberty Avenue?"

        "Fine, if you do not want to go to Meat Hook… thank God you do not want to go to Meat Hook… let's go to Babylon!"

        "Baby, I am sorry, but I will just be sitting at my office and taking care of business of the very same Babylon."

        "And then you have freelance. And then you need to help Cynthia and Cunt-thia to file their tax returns. And then you will try to sleep, fail and get five more side projects."

        "Hey, don't get steamed up. I will be free soon. I need to raise money for my new kitchen."

        "What for? You do not eat worth a fuck!"

        Emmett leapt up and stormed out of the store. Ted ordered bed delivery and went to work. On the way, his brain was trying to comprehend what was going on, but waves of numbers were crushing every impulse. And incidentally, an elegant financial solution for Babylon came to his mind.

***

        On Friday, Ted collected himself, came to see Emmett, ate a plate of lasagna demurely, and reminded his friend of the promised present. Emmett offered to hook up next afternoon at Ted's new place and to also confer about the kitchen matter. Ted seized the occasion to hand his beloved duplicate keys.

        "I wonder, what Emmett means by best sex in my life," Ted thought, recalling the occurrence at the airport. Damn, felt like it had happened a couple of ages ago. "One thing is clear: it definitely implies gargantuan dildos." Those thoughts made Ted's imagination ripple pleasantly, but, frankly speaking, Ted didn't have a clue what Saturnalian scenes were waiting for him a couple of blocks from his place.

        Forgive me, my kind reader, for these Saturnalian scenes are in some measure waiting for you as well. However, it is not you who will not be able to sit properly for the next two days, so please console yourself with that. 

        Firstly, yes, Emmett was clad in a suit. A black one, not pink. Secondly, he had two days worth of growth. This ginger bristle made Ted shiver. Thirdly, he was holding an attaché case in his hand. 

        "Agent Schmidt!" he said. "I am authorized to hand you a classified parcel. Please take it from the upper shelf of the sideboard." Barely refraining from epigonic yelps, Ted took the box, opened it and saw a collar with long heavy chain. "Please, take off your clothes and put this on."

        Ted took off his shirt and put on the collar, then tore off all other garments. Emmett politely, but firmly asked him to come closer, put his case on the table and opened it. The presentee looked in it out of the corner of his eye and was stupefied.

        Agent Honeycutt produced leather handcuffs, turned his love mate around, pressed on his shoulders to make him kneel, and cuffed his hands behind his back.  Ted heaved a sigh. Emmett took the chain and coiled it around his wrist. Then he put his sharp nosed boot between Ted's shoulder blades, making Ted press his chest to his knees. Then, to start things off, Emmett produced from his case the smallest anal Vibro Chain, thickly lubed it and used for the purpose intended. Then, still holding the chain, he took up a lash.

        To make a long story short, for about five hours Ted's brain at last stopped its endless operation and turned off. Probably, in his top ten days of his life this one will supersede the day when he received his honors degree.

 


	7. Redemption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So, Teddy. Why have you been in such a pain in recent weeks?"

However, Ted did not sleep properly that night, but at least in the morning he was still under impression of yesterday's events and it did not let him rape his unlucky intellect again. He managed to have a square breakfast and express his gratitude towards his mate by a masterpiece of oral art (and no, it was not one and the same activity) and even to have an hours-long small talk with him in the new bed.

But no sooner than that evening, Ted buried himself into paperwork as soon as he got home. He was at it until the alarm rang in the morning and then went to work.

At night he got to bed, slept for a couple of hours, tossed and tumbled for a couple more, and then took his laptop and finished yesterday's work. He passed out on his office couch, and even Brian did not wake him. Then he was rechecking bills till nightfall. Emmett came now and then, trying to threaten and blackmail him into eating. On Friday, won over by Mike's fast talk, Ted went to Woody's and committed there an act of inconceivable blasphemy: opened his laptop and spent three hours drawing up an agreement. Next, he decided that the bar was too noisy, went home, and wrote a report.

Saturday there was test phone call from Emmett: "What are you up to, honey? Oh, working? Fabulous! At home or at the office? I see! And will you eat? No? Great! When did you eat last time? You do not remember? Brilliant!”

Ted had no wish at all to think about Emmett now, his mind was elsewhere. Therefore he hung up and forgot about this call at once. And in the evening a lock clicked – and voila! On the doorstep Emmett appeared accompanied by – whom, do you think? – good old Blakie.

"What the fuck is that?" Ted inquired. Frankly speaking, after working the clock round he could not bet he was not hallucinating.

"Teddy," said Em. "You told me a week ago that you had a few little problems. Well, they are bigger than you think."

"Look. Did you come to screw my brains out? Sorry, they are occupied with far more important things," said Ted, staring back to his screen. "So, you may as well fuck off!"

Emmett gave such a scream, that was likely to have made the whole neighborhood quiver.

"Did you just tell me to fuck off!!? You did not!!! This fucking reminds me of something! Do you want me to throw this laptop out of the window?! Now fucking look at me! If. Once again. In your fucking life. You. Tell. Me. To. Fuck. Off. No fucking letter will ever help you, muffhead."

Ted gradually started to protrude into reality and focus on it. Stop-stop-stop. What is going on? He leapt to his beloved, hugged him and started to heap him with kisses and excuses. Emmett grabbed Ted by his shoulders and made him return to the couch:

"Take a seat and listen."

"Why did you bring Blake here?"

"If it had not been for Blake, we would not have had this conversation. He somehow managed to pluck you when nobody else was able. So, my great thanks to Blake, and may he talk to you. I am out to get some groceries, will be back in couple of hours. I do not care a fuck, what you two will be doing here – talk, have sex, stage a Bernard Show, but I hope that when I return, you will have stopped this fuckistry. And that you will eat and go to bed, as a normal person."

Emmett left with a bang. Ted reached for his laptop, but Blake caught his hand and shook head.

"Fine, Dr. Wyzecki", said Ted sarcastically. "Shall we discuss my relationship with my mother?"

"No, Teddy. Your relationship with your mother you will discuss with your therapist. And, by the way, I will give you a couple of contacts. I am here as a friend."

"What kind of a friend are you, pray?"

"The only kind I can be. So it goes, that I am only a mediocre friend. Far from Emmett. We both know, how he feels about me, but anyway he found me and brought me here."

Ted tried to stop the flow of numbers in his head. He had been cliff-hung, interrupted that very moment when everything was about to add up as it should have. The chaos of numbers had been forming a perfectly predictable line. It had been that very moment in a couple of frictions from orgasm.

And then, like a bolt from the blue, there was a question:

"So, Teddy. Why have you been in such a pain in recent weeks?"

The first wave: to usher Blake out and finish the work. The second wave: did he say "pain"? Why that word, of all others? Now he is feeling no pain at all, his brain is too busy for that. The third wave: oh, my God… And that third wave washed away all the numbers.

"Ted," said Blake quietly, "you cannot spend all your life killing yourself with guilt. Rather, you can, of course, but it will be a very short and unpleasant life."

"Probably, I deserve it?" said Ted angrily, fuck-off-style.

"A short and unpleasant life? Me too, don't you think?"

Ted stared at his ex-partner, with whom he once had so many ties. Light kind eyes. Heartwarming half-smile. God, this is Blakie! Ted wanted to hug him, draw him closer and stroke his hair, as if he was a child.

"Of course, no! I mean, I can be angry at you, but always wished you nothing but happiness."

"And what is the difference then?"

Ted was quiet.

"If you try to unwind this ball of yarn, where will it lead you? You got hooked on drugs, because you had miscalculated with that assistant lad and lost your business. But why did you decide that it was only you to blame? That you can foresee anything? Can anyone foresee anything? Let us wind further backwards. You were sacked after so many years of employment – and again just because you made a small normal human mistake. You had no luck with men. Including myself. Your first flame smashed your nose. You entered financial education, and not musical, because you obeyed your mother – and again it is you to blame. What comes next? School? Your father? Why do you always accumulate all this guilt and allow it to kill you?"

"You psychologists say we ourselves bear responsibility for our lives."

"Do bear it, Teddy. Why are you dragged along and buried by that guilt like by an avalanche?"

"And what can I do?"

Blake smiled and looked at Ted with all the warmth that can be focused in the stare of a human being.

"What about having some compassion for yourself?"

Compassion for himself? Was he serious?

"Everybody says that I have too much compassion for myself."

"They do not see the burden you are carrying. Come to me. Do not worry, I will not behave like a fuckhead."

"The burden you are carrying." "Compassion for yourself." "Why are you in so much pain in recent weeks?"

And then, under Blake's look, Ted felt all that. In how much pain he was – and not only in recent weeks. How big his burden was. How badly he needed some real, drama-free compassion for himself.

Ted hugged Blake's knees and burst out sobbing.

He was beweeping his lousy childhood, when his radio set was his best friend. And not having time to get to know his dad properly. And the fact that he and his sister always could not stand each other. And stupid studies. And his first love, never appreciated. And buried dreams of stage career. And unrequited feelings towards Mikey. And work at Wertchafter's. And the porn site. And his faith into the safety of the world – the faith that never was strong, but totally crumbled during his trial and never came back. And the reputation of a man who could always be trusted. And that time when everybody turned away from him, even he himself. And that horrendous pain he inflicted on Emmett. And Melanie's departure. And their break-up with Blake. Ted was weeping and weeping, and feeling that his tears were layer by layer removing at least a small part of that dreadful acute pain, from which he so bitterly tried to shut away or escape. And Blake was silently stroking his hair.

When Emmett returned, Ted was hiccupping with tears. Blake patted his shoulder and left.

"My God, honey, how badly you are crying," the mate whispered, cuddling Ted. "I love you. All is well."

"Forgive me, Em."

"I forgave everything long ago. You need not try to deserve it, you see? I just love you, that's all."

Ted blew his nose and drank some water. And then at last he slept all night long.

***

In the morning he and Emmett went to look for a kitchen. Ted was insisting on Provence style, with wooden lattices and all but carved flowers, and Emmett was pressing for black and grey high-tech. Okay, let it be Provence, the coziest patterns are these ones. But if so, Emmett is paying. Why, if the house belongs to Ted? Give it a fucking rest already!

No, they did not have a row, but neither bought a kitchen. On the bright side, they chose dark violet couch, two chairs and a hip coffee table. Let this sombre stuff be paid by Ted himself, and Emmett will give him a fuschia carpet, because there must be a bright spot in the interior.

They ordered delivery of the furniture and, miracle of miracles, went to Babylon. "Lo and behold, our merry junkie again achieved self-victory through love!" joked Brian amicably and patted Ted's shoulder. "The Sialic account papers have to be on my desk at 9 a.m. tomorrow." Emmett told Brian to fuck off, and the latter gladly followed the advice by going to the restroom. "He will get his agreement by noon," said Em in the cold, firm voice of Agent Honeycutt. Ted felt his knees shake and asked his beloved to come home with him.

Well, they did not make it till home, but there was a reason for human kind to invent car sex.

***

For all that, they bought a kitchen a la Provence, as Emmett always dreamt. He took care of the curtains and, all right, picked up the tile. They could have hired a pro, but it is better to let the magic fairy to entertain himself. And tickets to Florence were bought – and waiting.

Ted picked up the friend and took him to the new house to discuss things: kitchen color scheme, their journey, the curtains, housewarming party and so on. And still, damn, the situation went off course: Emmett got angry.

"Teddy, I, probably look like an idiot, but…"

"What? You do not look like an idiot."

"Seriously? But why then do you act as if I am an idiot?"

"I am acting as if you are an idiot?" Ted was terribly shocked.

"Why the fuck did you order this kitchen if I asked you not to do it?"

"Well, I can cancel the order."

"Teddy, I see all along, what you are driving at. Today I am your boyfriend, tomorrow I will move into your house…"

"Tomorrow, even I will not move into my house, half of rooms here needs reflooring."

"Let me finish my phrase! I will move into your house, and then you will propose me."

 

Good gracious. Well, as a matter of fact, it was odd to not expect that agent Honeycutt would crack this wily and artful plan.  

"I can spare you this."

"Of course, you will look at me by those huge puppy-dog eyes of yours, and they will say: 'I so badly want to see you in bridal veil and white gown, Em! But I'm afraid that you will turn me down, so I will silently muffer.""

"Mu-mu-muffer?"

"It's like suffer, but… muffer."

Ted sighed.

"And then, in my quest for clean socks, I will find the ring in a drawer. And I will say, like: 'Wow, from Tiffany.'"

"I did know, that you want Tiffany!"

"So, you have bought the ring already?"

"Well… In Paris, when I was waiting you to return from the sex shop..."

"God… So, Ted. This all is incorrect."

"You are thumbs down to gay marriages now?"

"Look, when all your life slumped into a slit and you narrowly escaped jail, I was trying to support you. It was not a problem for me. But, fuck knows, why, it was a problem for you! A huge one! And now I told you a hundred times: let me buy the kitchen, let me pay for the next trip, let me at least buy shorts for myself – but no! Because it is you who is a man here, you put up a purse, you work, you call all shots, and I am this nice, sweet little wife, I twitter and flitter. And now you take me to Europe and at any cash register you pop in your damned card, giving me no chance to open my mouth. Ask ladies' menu for me at restaurants, buy a ring for me…"

"There is no ring."

"What do you mean, no ring? Seriously?"

"Oh, God, Em! It is in my office, in the stationery box."

"You buy a house for us and ask me to feather this nest at your expense. And you are ruining yourself to raise the money. As well, you tiptoe around me, as if I am a rotten egg: 'What's gonna happen if I call him my partner?' Yes, I caught your stare at the hospital. 'If I tell him straight that I want him to choose the fucking mattress because he will sleep on it, he will burst into tears and run away' – right? Ted, do you think I am a youthful virgin?"

"Emmett, you must have forgotten, but as soon as we met I told you that I am gay. And it would have been odd to regard you a virgin after I banged your ass so many times."

"Just in case, I also banged your ass."

"Ooooooooooh. And that was really, really cool."

"To sum up, Ted, you have told me that anything can happen to anybody. And I want to be sure that if you again end up with a bare ass, midlife crisis or some other bollocks, you will accept my help without mindfucking. As an equal partner. Never again. I want to be Mrs. Ted Schmidt, do you understand?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"So then…"

Emmett kneeled on one knee and produced a small box from his pocket.

"Theodore Schmidt, will you marry me?"

For some moments Ted was staring at Emmett, blinking, with his mouth hanging open, and then burst into sobs.

"Do not cry, baby!" he told his old friend, cuddling him. "I do not insist on you wearing the veil. A boutonnière will be more than enough."


	8. Addendum: Emmett's Diary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, Teddy, I got terribly confused. And I wish I could have your advice.

March 23, 2008.

My dear sweet little Teddy. Three days of not talking to you. How are you? Awfully stressed, poor baby? Well, you gonna have to go through this. I am stressed too, and have nobody to share my feelings. It is so tedious, by the way! This year we've been chatting every day – kinda habit, like brushing your teeth mornings. When I hear a lol-able joke, I tell you right away. And, like, shoot everything and send to your phone. And now I am declining your calls, brute. Forgive me, sweetheart. Word of honor, soon I will gather my wits and come to you.

As always, it's all about boners. My upper head needs to sort out, what the lower one has to do. Most of my life I have been taking cues from the wrong one. I cannot say I had to regret it even once, but in our case I certainly will, if I do not consider everything thoroughly. That night, when I got so hammered in Babylon, you decided everything for me, and from now on I have to do it myself.

As always, Teddy, you have thought too much. We would have done it, so what? It could be great. The first decision is always the most correct. And now I will have to think. I loathe sitting and grinding my brains, making some life-changing decisions! Although, who knows, you probably would have taken into your head that I yielded to an impulse and then, blah-blah-blah, pitied you and all that stuff. Too often you think that I pity you.

In reality, it is not the case. Sure, it is not super-important, but it would be stupid to deny the obvious. You belong to that happy breed of men who get more and more handsome over the years. Marlon Brando of our queen scene. It is frightful to imagine, how you will look at sixty, when we all will get bald, turn into rolls of fat and trickle to the floor. And the more I look at you, the harder is my boner. After that night I have cramps in my loins as soon as I recall us lying on this bed and kissing. Oh, finish l8r.

So. The most important thing is not how sexy you became. Actually, it has been a very long time already – since THEN. Five years ain't a joke. First I could not even think about having sex with you. It made me see that hideous scene when you got wasted and made me jerk you off. Believe me, my life has been diverse, but there was nothing more cringe-worthy in it. But now I think that it was some one-off Teddy, and a very long time ago. It even seems to me that it was some other person.

But we both know that it was you. And you CAN do THIS. And if you can do this, who knows, what you will come up with, if something rubs you the wrong way. And what shall I do then? What will I be able to do then?! I just will not survive that shit again.

And if I put out to you now, it will not be just that. You told me, you wanted it more than anything else in your life. You cannot imagine, how moved I was by those words. But they reminded me once again: this all is terribly serious. And if we fuck now, it will mean that I am responsible for you again, and all your woes are mine. And all your acts are mine. How shall I cope with this?

At the time of your break up with Blake a year ago you did not want to talk to me for a month. Just once you came to weep on my couch, and I had no idea, how to help. Actually, if I am always with you, it probably will be better for us both. Then you scared me shitless, especially when you locked up in your condo and was smashing it. I believe, then I lost half of my hair. Had we lived together, I would not have allowed you to suffer so horribly and would have been less anxious for you. Although, had we lived together, what would that damned Blake have to do with you?!

On the other hand, when I was your boyfriend, it did not prevent you from doing fuck knows what right in my presence. This tweaked out assholes splooged my fave fur coat!!! I had no fucking clue what to do and what fuckliction was going on. I never felt so helpless, not even when they dipped my head into the school toilet. And I cannot stop wondering, where was my part of the responsibility, because when two people are a couple, this part is always there.

So, Teddy, I got terribly confused. And I wish I could have your advice.

March, 25

These "Oreos" cost me a shitload. I prowled, and I crept, and was still caught by Deb – frozen at the fridge. She started to interrogate me, as I was afraid of.

Why, she asked, did Ted the other day leave here with those SOUNDS of his? What sounds, I ask. She goes, like, the sounds that are followed by BEHAVIOR. Of course, I got what sounds she meant. Sniffing, grunting, stu-tu-tuttering. I keep quiet. And Deb asks me: "Why do you look as if you've not been fucked for a year?" I certainly tried to escape, but if she wants to talk, she will talk. And make anyone answer.

In the end, she told me she was not getting why we fags are so complex and are acting as total pricks. Come what may in Ted's life, no matter what shit he gets in, I am the one to rake it. Because we are still together, whatever I think. And now, besides that I am responsible for him, I do sit here unfucked! And while I am here jerking off on him, he sure as hell is jerking off on me. We'd better jerk each other off!

And right she was! Enough of that schlonguish. Tomorrow afternoon: Teddy's place. Or even today. No, tomorrow, I need a facial, and he is asleep anyway.

March 26

We fucked!!! It was ECSTATIC!!! Five years of fucking taught him fucking much!!!

March 29

Today again was ambushed by Drew next to Deb's place and coaxed to his car. They say: "Never get into strangers' cars!". Bullshit! One should not get to familiar cars. Well, I blew him unwittingly. Gross! But then I came to my wits and told him bluntly, that I love him very much, sure, but will not come back. And not because he fucked our maid. He was fucking people all the time, actually. I was trying not to notice it, but it was not an accident that I opened my eyes at last! Although, it really was wild of him – to bonk that chick right in our bed!

Well, Drew probably would have fucked my brains out and pleaded for forgiveness and got it, I do not know. Been there, done that, got a T-shirt, a flashlight and a mug. When Drew fucks me, I forget about everything. But two months before that, Teddy had started to LOOK at me again. He, certainly, believes, that his secret longing is wrapped in mystery, but I know him well and see through him. As recently as in January I would have been really strained by those stares, but later I surprisingly was not. Now I think that everything is going just right. If it had not been for that maid, I would have to do something with this myself.

No, I loved and love Drew. And that chicky fuck of his broke my heart. But now, everything really is going just right.

I promised nothing to Ted so far, and we did not discuss what had happened between us. And I am grateful that he does not force this conversation. At least, I am not going to tell him about today's encounter with Drew and do not feel obliged to do it. Although again, I have nobody to share this, argh!

If Ted and I get together officially, it will mean we will stay that way as long as we live. Just the two of us: me and him. And then again, if we do not get it right, I do not know how we will restore our friendship again. I mean, I am sure we will do it, but it will be very, very hard. As a matter of fact, I do not know even what scares me more: us getting it right or us getting it wrong. I mean, becoming partners. And "partner" is a wrong word, very dry. The word "lover" makes me cringe now. And speaking of family, Ted and I already are one. Even if this stuff beats me.

I do not want to make any decisions and act so far, I'll let it all add up by itself.

April 10

Asshole Boyd!!! Next time I see him I'll smash his smug mug even if he breaks my arms. Fucking jerk.

Poor Teddy checked out of the hospital. We drove him home, fed him, then I went to my place to take a breather. Was it right to let him spend the night alone? Sure it was wrong, but I wasn't staying at that damned condo. When Ted was ditched by Blake, I slept there on the couch, but then it seemed to me that if I stepped aside from Teddy, something awful would happen. Now he will cope on his own. And I need some solitude.

Too much emotions in me, I do not want to add new ones, tied to that bedroom and that bed. Dunno for sure, what I feel. Listen your gut, Em: did you forgive Teddy for good? Kinda yes. But still it is really creepy (mildly speaking) to be with him in that room. Sorta Vietnam Syndrome. Ted must be getting it, because he is buying a new house – for us.

Teddy is trying to hint he wants us to live in that house together. Trying, because those hints of his can make a dick laugh. Ri-dick-ulous. He could have just as well offered openly. But he is afraid to open up. Probably, right he is, because now I do not want to agree. We had already moved to a new house, and look how that ended! Duh, we will move in together, but I need more time to grow into it.

Apparently, I changed a lot in recent years. Before my men used to decide such things for me. And I used to do what I was told – and to think that was so romantic. Ted said: we are moving! And I, like, wow! And the house was picked up by Ted. No, he bought the one I wanted, but the decision was his! And the money, for that matter. Then Drew offered: let us live together, and I: hurray! And now I left Drew, and Ted is awfully afraid of me. Because mine is not only the last word, but a complete one half of the decision.

I really hate that again it is he who buys the house. Worse yet, he asked me to feather that nest for my liking, but as if for him – and at his expense. It means Teddy still does not get that I am not a little fiancée type: only able to just to bat my lashes and look for pillows in a catalogue. And it is really vexing! But I do not want to tell him when he is lying there, all beaten. Especially since I am the one to blame.

Heigh-ho… Tomorrow morning: Teddy's place, will give him breakfast. Still feeling guilty for failing to spend nights there. But I just can't.

What a dither! I hope this is the peak of the drama, not the start.

May 5

Almost a month wrote nothing, busy-busy.

Teddy took me to Paris for the week-end! It was fabulous!!! My Prince Charming!

Had a thought: Ted is versatile. We had been together for almost six months, and I had not found time to inquire, what is his fav position as bottom. Need to catch up. And it comes to mind, how he was raving about Dale Wexler. Why not to tap that side of my sexuality again? My experience there is small, but I think I will make it. Google and innate artistry work wonders!

My sweetheart has been working so much recently, I am not getting into his way. In the end, he paid for our voyage alone. I did not offer him to pay my share – if he wants to be generous, why not to make him happy. I myself gave this advice to Michael back then.  

 

May 12

We went to Venice. Liked it very much, but am kinda furious. Ted is getting on with his Generous Knight game, although it is a great pain in my ass. Feels like, he is trying to earn my favor. Dunno how to persuade him, he does not need to do that, especially in such silly ways. I'm afraid that if I start to deny him now, he will go over a really sharp bend. Foisted me his credit card during the journey.

Last year I made more by half, than Ted. But God forbid me to let him know, or hell will rise. Probably he has grown since the last time, but still there is no confidence in him. So, I bought two ties – for him and for me. Very cute ones, by the way! Mine is dotted with tender Empire-style roses, peach-colored. Ted's is dark olive, to highlight eye color.

He is sitting, working, never lifting his head, eating nothing. Last time he was like that was when his relationship with Blake fell into twat. But now all is well! Apparently, not well at all. Need to come up with something.

May 18

Looks like I found a way to make Teddy ease a little. My inspiration Parisien made the trick! Although it was STRANGE. But I liked it!!! Will buy nipple clamps tomorrow.

May 20

Fuck it helped.

Ted's twattacks went crescendo. When it became totally dumb to deny he had gone into a tailspin, I went to see Blake. Asked what to do with the sufferer. In the end, Blake is a pro here. He told, Ted is prone to some impulsive disorder* (google it!!!), and when he is upset, he starts jerking off and cannot stop. Not always in direct sense of the word.

No way he will go to see a pro, not in this condition, at least, so I have to take Blake to his place. Oh I HATE this brat!!! Fucking ghoul, sucked all Teddy's blood out. But if he can help now, I have to put up with this.

Poor Ted, he is totally down. I understand that it happened because of me, but in reality I am just a pretext. He himself is the cause, and if now I just give him what he needs, his calm will last precisely till the next moment when he fails to cope with himself. And I will have no chance to help him already, if I act as I used to. It's going to be as before. Awful.

Also it bugs me that he cannot bite the bullet and tell me about his feelings openly. Is he really afraid that I will get up and leave?! Who does he think I am?! Keeps looking at me by those puppy-dog eyes of his and jerks off. Oh yes, no jerk and all work. To tour me across Europe.

May 25

Looks like Blake had helped. When I came home, Ted was weeping on his chest – for more than an hour, by the color of his face. And then Blake left, Ted snuggled at my side and fell asleep. My poor, poor baby.

Teddy, my love, I need some more time. I see that you are scared shitless, but I will not give rein to your emotions again. Don't you remember where it led us the last time!

We were hurrying too much then. We were not really ready. Now we are closer to this, and I feel: by and by. And I have made my decision, and you will like it. But please, give me a little more time to be alone and to understand completely, what we have to do for making it just right this time. Because now everything has to be quite different. Both for your sake and mine.

May 28

Of course, you yourself will never appreciate, what a FASHIONABLE ring I bought for you. But it will please my eye when I will see it on your hand holding my dick. High time to check it out!

Let me just burn this diary. I hope I will never need one again.

Too bad Aunt Lula cannot come to the wedding! But I know for sure: she is ever so happy for me – there, in Heaven.

FIN

Notes:

* Emmett means obsessive-compulsive disorder. People with OCD uncontrollably develop haunting, disturbing or scary thoughts (so called obsessions). They are constantly trying and failing to get rid of the anxiety caused by those thoughts via equally compulsive and tiresome actions (compulsions).

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Emmett means obsessive-compulsive disorder. People with OCR uncontrollably develop haunting, disturbing or scary thoughts (so called obsessions). They are constantly trying and failing to get rid of the anxiety caused by that thoughts via equally compulsive and tiresome actions (compulsions).


End file.
